Chains That Bind
by ginny-go die in a corner
Summary: Harry's a flaming show-off? Neville thinks he's a dog? Luna's wasted? Ron's gangsta? Hermione's having some strange feelings towards Romilda Vane? Malfoy's a slimy git? Well, not everything's changed, but you'd be surprised at what will... HPDM LEMON!
1. Sorry, I Don't Speak American

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

a/n: THE FIRST TWO CHAPTERS OF THIS STORY ARE (MOSTLY) THE WORK OF **hanyouinlove**, NOT ME! She had graciously let me take over the story, seeing as this was intended to be a lemon and according to her, she can't write lemons. So she's given it to someone who can evil grin. **Fair warning:** smut, lemon, AU, HPDM, RWHG, so get used to it!

* * *

Harry Potter squinted through the smoke streaming from the smokestack of the scarlet Hogwarts Express as the smoke rolled over the platform like a dense, acrid fog. He was looking for a familiar face in the crowd of students and parents saying their goodbyes. He puffed on his cigarette thoughtfully; a new brand Hagrid had given him a carton of for his 16th birthday. Wizard cigarettes were much cooler than the muggle ones. Most importantly, they didn't make your teeth rot and fall out or give you cancer. And if you ever got tired of plain cigarette flavor, there was a spell you could use to make it taste differently depending on your mood.

Right now, Harry felt like just a plain old cigarette. Nothing fancy. Not that the plain flavor tasted all that great, but he still hadn't mastered the art of changing the flavor or lighting it magically, even after weeks of determined practice... Okay maybe only a few days of half-assed practice. He _was_ Harry Potter, after all.

He'd had to bum a light off a crack-head waiting on Platform 5 back in the muggle part of King's Cross in exchange for one of his sleek, black fags. Harry had given it to him grudgingly, but put a jinx on it as soon as he was out of earshot that made it so that as soon as the unsuspecting junkie put his lips to the filter, he'd break out in oozing cold sores that looked suspiciously like herpes.

Harry saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ginny and Ron in tow, through the haze and quickly extinguished his cigarette on the brick wall behind him and flicked it to the ground. He was sure the Weasley parents wouldn't approve of this nasty little habit. Or any of my others... Harry thought, smirking a Malfoy-worthy smirk. And even Harry had to admit; the guy had an unexpectedly sexy way of smirking...

"Harry, dear!" cried Mrs. Weasley once she had spied his face amongst all the other teens leaning against the wall next to him, smoking. She ran and took him up in a smothering motherly hug that she was famous for... Well, it wasn't the only thing she was famous for, but it was certainly the least shocking.

She released him and he backed away. Mrs. Weasley's hugs always left Harry woozy and slightly off-balance. He wasn't sure whether it was the intoxicating aroma of her perfume that did it, or his face being smooshed into her breasts and then rubbed back and forth (inadvertently, of course). Which ever it was, Harry never really wanted to find out, nor did he want it to stop. And for the longest time, Harry had wondered why Mr. Weasley always looked a bit dazed. Well, now he knew.

"Hullo, Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley," Harry said politely as he shook Mr. Weasley's hand as if they were in a battle to establish dominance. Harry had no clue as to why men shook hands in this way, but it didn't really matter. He always let Mr. Weasley win the silent battle anyway.

He waved to Ron, whom Harry noted was looking quite "gangsta" in an ill-fitted white t-shirt and baggy jeans with his plaid boxers hanging out the back. "Hey," he said uncertainly.

Ron tilted his chin up in response. "Sup?"

"Oh, Ronald! For Christ's sake, stop acting like a hooligan!" his mother screeched as she swooped down on him, her hands grabbing the waistband of his pants and hoisting them up to his ribcage. "And keep your pants up! No one wants to see your 'fruit of the loom'!"

"Moooom!" Ron exclaimed, turning red with embarrassment as the smokers at the wall pointed and rotated between laughing at him, coughing, choking, and then back to laughing again.

"Oh, don't worry, honey," she consoled him. "Someday you'll meet a nice girl who'll want to be all over it, but for now, keep your pants up!" And with a wave of her wand, Ron's pants were belted securely at his waist.

Harry shook his head to clear it of the mental image Mrs. Weasley had implanted there of Ron's quote-unquote "fruit of the loom". "Sorry I couldn't come for the summer," he apologized.

"Quite all right, dear." Mrs. Weasley smiled. "But I do hope you'll come for Christmas."

Harry looked back at Ron, who did his best to avoid his eyes. Harry put on his most convincing fake smile and turned back to Mrs. Weasley. "Of course." He instantly regretted his answer as soon as it was out of his mouth, as usual. But, yet, he still kept being invited and he still kept going. Would the vicious cycle ever end? Maybe when I'm dead... Harry thought.

Every Christmas with the Weasleys was like going to a bar with a bunch of your rowdy friends and getting shit-face drunk, then decorating a tree with beer bottle caps whilst singing off-key Christmas carols. It wasn't that Christmas with the Weasleys wasn't fun and/or entertaining, it was just that after a few years or seeing Mr. Weasley stark naked attempting to climb atop the Christmas tree and shouting "Twinkle, twinkle little star. Here's my handle, and here's my other handle. Wait I'm no star! I'm a sugar bowl!" it just grew tiring.

The train gave an impatient whistle, starting Mr. Weasley out of a daydream.

"Well," he said loudly, clapping Ron on the shoulder. "Off you go, lads!" He shook Harry's hand once again, this time reducing Harry's finger bones to dust in the process.

Harry shook his hand back and forth to get the blood flowing back to it. He really couldn't afford to have anything happen to this hand: it was his "smoking hand". (When he held his cigarette in his left hand, he just looked gay.)He'd actually practiced holding his cigarette, switching hands to see which one looked best, in the mirror over the summer; which happened to be the main reason why he didn't go to the Weasleys'.

Mrs. Weasley hugged Ron, then Harry. Once again, Harry felt the brief contact go straight to his head and almost fell over as he began to lug his trunk and Hedwig's cage to the train. He was almost certain now that it was her breasts that seemed to have that "magical" affect on people. (Men, mostly, except for that curious incident that transpired between Mrs. Weasley and Professor Sprout at one of the infamous "Weasley Parties". Experts believe Tequila shots and a lime were involved...)

Harry looked sideways to Ron, whom, having already loaded his luggage onto the train, was simultaneously tugging at his belt-buckle and cursing.

"Damn! Why'd she have to go and make it so"-and here, he jerked the buckle up in what some might say was a suggestive manner-"TIGHT!"

"I though 'tight' was good... or was that 'fly'?"

Ron didn't get the joke and stared at Harry, so he quickly changed the subject. "Where's Ginny? I saw her, but I didn't get the chance to say anything." (By "anything", Harry meant "Let's hook up 'cos you're hot and I'm Harry Potter, so you know you want me", but he wouldn't have said that to Ron.)

Ron shrugged and finally released his death-grip on the belt-buckle. "I don' know. She saw her bitches and bounced."

Ron had obviously spent his summer watching MTV. "Sorry, I don't speak American," Harry said, trying to suppress the laughter that was fighting to get out. Ron had definitely changed over the summer; for better or for worse, Harry wasn't sure, but it was hilarious either way.

Ron grunted in disapproval and said, "I don't know where she went. She saw some of her friends and left," enunciating eachsyllable as if speaking to a retarded child.

"Oh," said Harry, finally understanding.

They reached the train and pushed Harry's trunk in before climbing in themselves.

As usual, everyone was staring at him. The Daily Prophet called him "The Chosen One". It was just some bullshit about a prophecy that said he was the one who had the power to defeat Voldemort, blah, blah, blah... Neither can live while the other survives. Junk like that that made everyone think Harry Potter was this big hero, when, in fact, all the prophecy said was that Harry could love Voldemort to death, in a manner of speaking. And to find that after all they had been through to retrieve it, _that_ was all the prophecy said, was disappointing. Not to mention the fact that Sirius had died. Harry was awfully upset about that on account of the fact that his godfather owed him money. Quite a lot in fact, due to one of Sirius's many get rich quick schemes which he had borrowed money from Harry to back. He had left Harry his house at Grimmauld Place and Harry had tried selling it, but no one seemed interested. This was probably due to the fact that Number 12 Grimmauld Place didn't actually exist. (_You_ try selling an invisible house!)

"Harry! Harry!" yelled a buxom fourth year Ravenclaw girl. "Sign my chest!" She thrust a black Sharpie into his hand and ripped open her blouse. (A button actually flew off and hit Ron square in the eye, but Harry wasn't paying enough attention to laugh.)

To Harry's surpriseand delight, she was wearing a little, black, lacy number that barely seemed to keep her boobs in place.

"And now I know why they call them Wonder Bras," Harry muttered before un-capping the marker and diving right in. Ron rolled his eyes and casually looked away as if the whole scene bored him, and immediately wished he hadn't.

A certain girl had caught his eye. A certain girl he had dated the previous year (and cheated on). And this certain girl's name was Hermione Granger.

Ron noticed that she had changed just as much as Ron had over the summer, which she had spent stateside with her mother and father. She wore a very low cut shirt. The front read "Insert Coin Here (for 10 second ride)" and had an arrow that pointed up to the slip of cleavage just visible at the neckline. Along with the shirt, she had on tight, black, straight-legged jeans and converse, her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail.

Hermione stared at Ron icily, her eyes roaming up and down his body, fighting the look of amusement that rushed to her face at the sight of his pants.

Ron realized that she was on the verge of laughing at him, and grabbed his crotch (which is what he did in most embarrassing situations) and tried to yank his pants down a bit.

Harry, having finished signing autographs on various pieces of paper and body parts, turned his attention back to Ron and found him engaged in a passionate kiss with Hermione that included thrashing limbs and strange squeaking noises. (The latter coming from Ron.)

He smiled and leaned against the wall of the narrow hallway. "So I guess she's forgiven you for the whole 'Lavender' thing, eh?"

Hermione's eyes opened and she pushed Ron away from her violently, their lips disconnecting with an audible "smack".

"No," Hermione said firmly, pulling the neck of her shirt, which had come dangerously close to being a serious wardrobe malfunction, back into place.

"What?" Ron, who had been looking so smug, now looked confused.

"I fell," Hermione shrugged and took down her hair. She bent forward to shake it out before tying it back again and Harry snuck a peek down her shirt. Just because she was his friend didn't meant she wasn't a girl. Ron was too flustered to even think about looking.

She straightened up and Harry snapped to attention. He wouldn't want her to catch him in the act. "You fell?" He raised his eyebrows. "What, and landed on Ron's lips?"

Hermione blushed. Ron, by this time, had gone past red and had circled back to pale.

She chuckled nervously. "Erm... Yeah..." Hermione looked away from Harry and tried to look at Ron, but her eyes froze somewhere over his left ear. "Thanks for breaking my fall," she said in an unconvincing tone of appreciation.

Harry snorted and moved on to find a compartment, leaving the two ex-lovers standing awkwardly in the hall.

Not-so-unfortunately, the only compartment Harry could find that was even semi-empty contained none other than Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom. And of course, Luna was as high as a kite and Neville was under the impression that he was a loyal, if somewhat behaviorally challenged, Golden Retriever.

They used to be perfectly normal. It had all happened at the end of last year when Harry, Ron, Hermione, Luna, Neville, and Ginny had gone to the Department of Mysteries to save Sirius and while in the process of trying to find him, Luna had wandered into the Magically Intensified Toxins room, and had somehow managed to get permanently intoxicated (Why the Ministry had a room full of magically modified crack was beyond Harry.) and Neville had wound up with the brain of a dog. No one was quite sure how that happened, seeing as the only witnesses were a dog and a stoner.

"Haaaaaaaaarry!" Neville yelled. He jumped up from his seat, abandoning Trevor, whom he had previously been stroking with his index finger. He ran to hug Harry and Harry opened his arms half-heartedly. There was no trying to stop Neville when he was like this (and he was even slightly more lucid than usual).

"Harry," Luna said softly before returning to her inspection of the palms of her hands with her pair of cutout Spectrespecs from the Quibbler. "Mmmm..." she murmured to herself. "What strange hands I have..."

Harry hoisted his trunk into an overhead compartment and plopped down beside Neville, narrowly missing Trevor.

After taking a quick look around their compartment and as far as he could see down the hall outside, he drew a battered box from his jeans pocket and pulled out a cigarette. Neville watched in fascination as Harry twirled it back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. Luna merely intensified her scrutiny of her palms, occasionally making a comment under her breath.

There was a commotion outside the door and Harry sat up, placing his cigarette behind his ear as he did so.

"You ask him!"

"No, you!"

"Fine, fine!" A skinny, dark-haired girl was pushed to the door by another girl, whom Harry recognized as the girl who had asked him to sign her chest. The dark-haired girl rolled her eyes at her friend and muttered, "Honestly!" before sliding open the compartment door.

Harry stared at her a moment before asking, "Can I help you?"

The girl giggled. "Actually, I can help you." She took a step towards Harry while at the same time hitching up her already ridiculously short skirt to show three more inches of smooth skin. "I'm Romilda Vane." She held out her hand for him to shake.

Harry looked down to her hand then back up to her face. "Harry Potter... But I'm sure you already knew that." He ignored her hand and leaned back in his seat, propping his feet up on Hedwig's cage and searching his coat pocket for his iPod. He felt like some Rage Against the Machine at the moment...

Romilda laughed anxiously and slowly curled her fingers in to make a fist before dropping her hand to her side.

"And how exactly,"-Harry paused to let his eyes wander back to her-"do you plan on helping me?"

"Well..." she began as she edged even closer to Harry and "fell", twirling gracefully before landing heavily on Harry's lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck, forcing her face as close to his as possible. "Oops," she breathed.

Harry turned away from her. Her breath reeked of Firewhiskey. "Yeah," he grunted before pushing her off his lap.

She looked a bit putout and shook her hair impatiently. "Well, I was wondering if you'd like to sit with me and my friends in our compartment?" She glanced towards Neville and Luna, who were now taking turns sniffing Luna's hands, and raised her eyebrows before turning back to Harry. "You don't have to sit with them," she whispered in his ear.

"Actually..." Harry began loudly.

Romilda crossed her arms and stood up straight, staring down at Harry. "Really? What could those two havethat me and my friends don't?"

Harry's attention was drawn to the window on the compartment door where Romilda's friend was pressing her bare chest against the glass. Harry could see his scrawled signature just above the lacy edge of her bra.

"I love you!" the girl mouthed excitedly.

Harry smiled. "I know," he mouthed back.

Romilda tapped her foot impatiently. "Well?"

Harry reluctantly looked back to her. "Look," he stood and grabbed her wrist, leading her back to the door, then turned to face her. "If I told you something, would you promise not to tell anyone? Not even-" His eyes shot to her friend who was now licking the glass opposite Harry's face. He grimaced and continued. "Not even her?"

Romilda grasped Harry's hands. "Of course! You can trust me!"

"Okay." Harry bent down so that his lips brushed against her ear. She shivered as he began to whisper.

He finished and pulled away, dropping her hands. "I hope you can understand."

Romilda nodded slowly and sadly. "I can't change your mind?"

Harry shook his head in an equally sad manner. "You can try."

She smiled hopefully. "I will!" Harry slid open the door and ushered her out, eyeing her friend as he did so.

Once they were out of sight down the hallway, he turned back to find Luna and Neville staring at him.

"Why did she leave?" Neville asked.

"Yes, I found her friend particularly amusing..." Luna added quietly in her misty voice.

"I told her I was gay and that Neville and I were partners." Harry shrugged.

"We are?" Neville asked. He looked to Luna for an answer. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

She patted him on the back consolingly.

"No, you git!" Harry yelled before taking his cigarette out from behind his ear and sticking it in his mouth. "I just told her that so she'd get off my back." He sat down, propped his feet up, and covered his eyes with his arm. "I just hope she doesn't go tell the whole school... The door opened once more and Harry sighed, thinking it was Romilda again.

"So, word in the corridor is that you're a flaming homosexual," jeered Hermione.

Harry removed his arm from his face. Hermione was standing in the doorway, a mocking smile on her face. Ron stood slightly behind her, not quite meeting Harry's eyes.

"Damn," Harry whispered to himself before coming back with a nasty comment for Hermione. "Back from the luggage compartment so soon? Tsk, tsk, Hermione. You should know better by now." He shook his head. "And to think you can call yourselves Prefects... The upholders of our school's moral values." Harry was referring to an embarrassing incident in which the man who helps load the students' trunks onto the train caught Hermione top-less and making out with Ron in the luggage compartment. He promised he wouldn't turn them in if he could get in on it. Needless to say, Ron and Hermione turned themselves in.

"Ha ha," said Ron in a monotone. He sat down next to Harry, but scooted away after brushing his leg accidentally.

"Don't worry mate, you're not my type," Harry whispered to him.

"Then you _are_ gay?" Ron whispered back.

"No, you idiot! My 'type' is girls!" Harry did the little hand gesture, curvy thing that symbolizes a female (you know the one) in the air to emphasize his point.

Ron sighed in relief and moved back towards Harry.

"And we weren't in the luggage compartment, we were doing Prefect duty!" Hermione snapped as she sat down beside Luna, eyeing her Spectrespecs warily. "You won't believe how much Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes merchandise we've had to confiscate already!"

"I don't understand why you had to turn in that daydream hookah," Ron complained bitterly.

"Ron, I told you!" Hermione said. "It would just have been taken by Filtch once we arrived at school anyway!"

Ron crossed his arms and stared out the window at the hilly landscape that was rolling by. "I know, but I could have gotten a few go's out of it before then..." he mumbled.

Hermione rolled her eyes and the compartment was silent.

Once more, the door was thrown open, this time by a nervous-looking third-year. When she didn't say anything, Harry asked rudely, "Well, what the fuck do you want?"

"Um..." She thrust a scroll of parchment into Harry's hand. "I'm supposed to give that to you and this,"-she held up another scroll-"to... him..." She looked towards Neville who was quite involved in petting Hermione, who swatted his hand away irritably. The third-year handed the scroll to Neville and he began to sniff it.

She turned to leave, but then turned back to Harry. "Is it true-"

"No!" Harry shouted before shoving her roughly out the door and slamming it behind her.

"How rude!" she squealed as she stomped down the hall.

"Really, Harry," Hermione scolded.

But Harry ignored her and ripped open the seal on the parchment. Ron leaned over Harry's shoulder. "What's it say?"

_Harry,_

_I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C._

_Sincerely,_

_Professor H.E.F. Slughorn_

"Bloody hell," Harry mumbled.


	2. Not in the Butt!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

a/n: LEMON!! (But you'll have to wait until the end and this is a long chapter... evil grin)

* * *

"Who's 'nrohgulS'?" asked Neville as he studied his parchment dubiously.

"You're reading it upside-down," Hermione noted. She patiently reached over and plucked the paper from Neville's hands before turning it over and giving it back to him, smiling in a motherly way.

"Oh..." Neville looked over the paper once more. "Who's Slughorn, then?" he asked Harry.

Harry sighed and rubbed his temples. "New teacher," he replied. Why Slughorn wanted them in his compartment, Harry could only guess. And he sincerely hoped it wasn't food or sexually motivated... Or both. Harry forced the unbidden thought of a naked Professor Slughorn-slathered in chocolate sauce in a pool of whipped cream with a cherry hanging from his mouth, beaconing Harry to just come a bit closer, that he wouldn't bite... much-from his mind with a shudder.

Old Dumbles had taken Harry to visit Slughorn earlier in the summer to try and convince him to take a teaching position at Hogwarts. ("Just come by... and see what we have to offer," Dumbledore had said then, pushing Harry softly in the back, forcing him closer to the sitting Slughorn. Harry had only recently realized what exactly Dumbledore had meant by those words, and vowed to get the old git back, even if he had to resort to sleeping with Minnie... Harry had also only recently realized he was drunk the night he made that vow and quickly removed that last part about sleeping with McGonagall from his memory.) Long story short, Harry was well aware of Slughorn's fancy for teenage boys and cake or any combination of the two.

Harry crumpled the parchment up and threw it to the floor before standing. "Well..." He looked at his watch. "I guess we should go, Neville."

"Huh? Okay. Sure." He stood and put Trevor down in his empty seat. He patted the toad's slimy head and cooed, "Be a good boy now while Daddy's gone!"

Harry rolled his eyes and put his unused cigarette back in the box, then flung the box into Ron's lap. Harry didn't want to be caught with them if Slughorn decided to pat him down upon entrance to the compartment, which he probably would. Ron frowned and laid them gently on Harry's seat. Smoking was the only habit Ron hadn't picked up from Harry in his attempts to emulate him over the past years. (For the longest time, Ron had not-so-secretly wanted to be Harry, you see.)

"Come!" Harry patted his thigh as he ordered Neville. He turned and exited their compartment, Neville right on his heels.

* * *

"Harry!" Slughorn beamed down at Harry from over his rotund stomach. "How... nice to see you again." The perverted bastard was practically drooling, Harry thought as he licked his dry lips in what he hoped looked more like a nervous manner than a seductive one.

Slughorn seemed not to notice Harry's lip licking, (seeing as he wasn't exactly looking at the boy's face...) and thrust out a hammy hand, which Harry shook in the most manly way possible. The professor turned his roving eyes towards Neville. He smiled and sized him up as if Neville were a tasty cherry tart instead of a human being. "And you must be Neville Broadbottom!"

"I am?" clueless Neville turned and asked Harry.

"Longbottom, sir," Harry corrected him. "You'll have to excuse Neville." Harry took Neville by the shoulders and steered him into the compartment in front of him. "He's a bit _touched_," Harry whispered to Slughorn and pointed to his temple, grimacing. "No worries. Accident at the Ministry. He just thinks he's a dog, is all."

Slughorn nodded his head slowly and contemplatively. Probably wondering how much he could get away with before Neville could figure out he was dodgy. Harry didn't have to wonder: He knew it was a lot.

Another boy came in behind them, so Harry and Neville were mercifully excused from Slughorn's sight.

They sat down on a bench with another 6th year, a Slytherin by the looks of him, though Harry couldn't quite recall his name. Neville couldn't either, seeing as how he couldn't even recall his own name. Across form Harry sat a sheepish-looking girl, unsure as to why she was there exactly. The longer Harry stared at her, the more he began to realize she looked familiar. She tossed her head from side-to-side like a horse, and Harry instantly realized who she was. It was Ginny. And she looked absolutely marvelous.

She'd taken some fashion tips from Hermione and sported her own pair of ridiculously tight jeans and a revealing top (covered by a sweater, however, much to Harry's dismay). She wore her long, red hair straight down. It was nice to know she didn't change too much over the summer, except for the fact that she appeared to have gotten hotter. He finally caught her eye and smiled mischievously. She rolled her eyes, but smiled in return before turning her attention back to the window next to her.

"Well. Now that everyone is here," thundered Slughorn pompously. "We can begin."

Harry took a look around him. The assortment of seemingly random people in the compartment made Harry think of some really awkward orgy that he wasn't too thrilled to be a part of.

With a flourish of Slughorn's wand, a cart full of desserts appeared in the middle of the floor. Neville's eyes widened and he dove straight in, taking two miniature cupcakes and a heaping bowl of pudding. Harry decided to pass: There was no telling what kind of date rape drug Slughorn had put in the food.

Neville grunted in aggravation, causing Harry to turn his way. The poor bloke was trying desperately to eat one of his cupcakes through his forehead, which, as we all (hopefully) know, is not how the whole eating thing is done. Harry rolled his eyes and reached for Neville's cupcake-holding hand, pulling it down to mouth-level.

"Thanks..." Neville took a bite and crumbs and icing fell down his shirt-front. "I don't think I could have figured that one out on my own."

Harry was too bored to feign patience. "I'm sure," he replied dully. Now that he had re-taught Neville how to eat, there wasn't much else to do except listen to Slughorn's interrogations about the students' various family members, which, surprising as it may seem, was Slughorn's real motive for collecting this odd assortment of students.

As it turns out, Cormac McLaggen was the sole heir to the Twinkies fortune. Harry assumed this was the only reason the guy was on Slughorn's "favorites" list (McLaggen was... not so much magically inclined as he was magically inept... And his face looked like a horse's arse.) And another interesting fact Harry would like to not have learned: Blaise Zabini's mother happened to be a porn star, her most famous movie, "Curse of the Black Pearls 3: Black-door Brother" according to Slughorn was "her best one yet!" Slughorn had scooted forward in his seat as he appraised the Slytherin. "Why I do believe I have that one at home... Now, is that the one where the Captain..." Harry wisely chose to tune out the rest of that little reverie, or he, like the others in that compartment, would have been scarred for life.

Harry exhaled, blowing some unruly hair out of his eyes and stared out at the rolling hills just beyond the foggy window. He noticed Ginny was watching him intently and he did his best to look godly, yet approachable at the same time, which was hard to do.

Finally, Slughorn's line of questioning fell to Harry. Harry had been wondering why he had been invited exactly, but had come to a very obvious (and correct) conclusion: He was the "Chosen One". And Slughorn couldn't possible resist the allure that is Harry Potter. Why Neville and Ginny were there was another situation entirely. He could only guess that it had something to do with the battle at the Ministry... That or Neville was to be another notch in Slughorn's headboard ( :shudder: ) and Ginny was to be chopped up into little bits and used as an ice cream topping of some sort, both ideas which made Harry sick.

"Now, Harry," Slughorn began, pausing to take a bite of apple strudel and then wipe the crumbs from his chin(s) with a dirty handkerchief. "We all know about you..."

Harry could sense the whole compartment (with the exceptions of Ginny, Neville, and Slughorn) rolling their eyes. Like they hadn't gotten enough Harry Potter for one lifetime. (Although Harry himself didn't particularly think one could have too much Harry Potter, but you can never tell with some people...)

Slughorn leaned forward slightly, waiting for Harry's inevitable answer.

"I'm the 'Chosen One', so naturally, you'd want me here," Harry mumbled. He had gotten tired of that "Chosen One" title almost as soon as it had been "bestowed" upon him. Sure, he'd basked in his wonderful "Chosen One-ness" for a while, but after the second day, it got a little old. Especially when every one he came across stared at him shamelessly. It made Harry realize how Hermione's boobs must feel, if they had feelings, that is. _But she wouldn't have that problem if she didn't go around _showing _them to every Tom, Dick, and... Harry... _Harry smiled inwardly, then added, _I wish.  
_  
Slughorn feigned surprise. "Really? Well, there's a shocker!" He sat back on the seat and adjusted his robe collar before continuing. "Actually, I asked you here to ask you to confirm a bit of... gossip I heard in the corridor just a moment ago. I think you know what I'm talking about." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"What?" Harry gagged. It was one thing if creepy-stalker-fan-girls thought he was gay, but quite another if _Slughorn _thought he was. "I-I..." he stuttered, looking for the right insult to effortlessly toss back at Slughorn, but found none in his rather large arsenal of snappy comebacks. He could see the headlines now: _Harry Potter GAY! The Skeletons in HIS Closet Come Out As Well!_ Harry hoped the writers at The Daily Prophet could come up with a better headline than that, but after seeing the article "_Scrimgeour Rules the Ministry with a Hard Sphincter_", he had lost all faith in the press.

The others in the compartment looked from Harry to Slughorn and then back like they were some sort of really interesting tennis match that could turn bloody at any moment. Judging by the strained looks on all their faces (Except Neville: He always looked that way), they were obviously holding their breath for Harry to say something. "Piss off," was all he could manage, and the eager fans were pleased. McLaggen looked as if he might wet himself, he was trying so hard not to laugh. Blaise sniffed, which is what Harry supposed his amused laugh sounded like. Slughorn just sat back and eyed Harry. He looked like he might be angry, but Harry wasn't quite sure... Maybe he just liked them feisty... _Oh, for the love of Merlin, I've got to stop thinking like this!_ Harry scolded himself.

"Now, it's nothing to be ashamed of," Slughorn consoled. "I myself have been... sexually confused at some point or another in my life." He placed a porky hand on Harry's shoulder. "Nothing to worry about, lad."

Harry shook his hand off. "I'm NOT gay," he said venomously.

Slughorn nodded exaggeratedly, obviously humoring Harry's denial. "Of course not. Glad we got that... _straightened_ away." He chortled throatily at his own joke.

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and stared moodily out the window at the country-side flashing by. He could see Ginny staring at him in the reflection, so he pretended not to notice and intensified his pout, which he was told drove the girls crazy... Now he just hoped it didn't drive the boys crazy as well. "It's not funny..." he mumbled to himself.

So what if he'd once kissed Ron? They were both drunk of their asses and Ron didn't even remember that little incident. (Or the remainder of the rest of the night, for that matter. In fact, both of them remained blissfully unaware of that particular peanut-buttered escapade.) And Harry sure as hell wasn't going to remind him, Ron being somewhat of a homophobe and all. Besides, it had been like what Harry supposed kissing his mother would have been like... If his mum was lanky, red-headed with a guy's voice, answered to "Ron", and had male-bits and a foot fetish that bordered on disturbing, but was still more fucking hilarious than creepy.

Harry shook his head to clear it of all unwanted thoughts and tried to focus on the conversation between Slughorn and Neville, if you could even call it that: Slughorn asked questions while Neville rocked back and forth, scratching his neck and staring at a slice lemon meringue pie on the now half-empty dessert cart.

Slughorn sighed and shook his head. He really should have considered mental screenings of all his prospective favorite students. "I said, your parents were Frank and Alice Longbottom, were they not?" He stared wistfully past Neville. "Good people, your parents were. It was a shame to lose them, eh?

Neville jerked his shoulders in what could be considered either an indifferent or remorseful way, but judging by the look of immense concentration on Neville's face, Harry assumed this movement was merely a twitch. "Harry, can you tell him to shut his gob?" Neville whined and waved his hand in Slughorn's direction. "He's breaking my _concentration_!" he whispered and pointed toward the pie.

Slughorn cleared his throat and continued, disregarding Neville's words of dismissal. "Yes, well, wonderful wizards your parents were," he concluded.

Neville went on with the staring match between him and the slice of pie as if nothing had been said.

Harry sighed and drew his wand, waving it discretely beside him, and sending the slice of lemon meringue pie on its white, ceramic plate floating towards Neville, who caught the plate with a victorious squeak. "Yess!" he cried. "Score: Neville-one, Pie-23..." _How many Neville vs. Pie staring matches has this boy taken part in_? Harry wondered. He could ask, but then Neville'd actually have to explain it, and that might lead to Harry actually understanding Neville, which was generally a problem. Neville bit straight down on the pie, not even bothering to pick it up off the plate.

"And _you_, young lady," Slughorn began, turning away from Neville, who had discarded the pie and was gnawing on the plate with the determinacy a neurotic squirrel would be proud of. Ginny, for that was who Slughorn was referring to, shifted away from Slughorn's roving eyes. Harry stiffened and wished he had had the courage to sit closer to Ginny to be some sort of protection, or at least act as a human sacrifice so that Ginny may be spared of any heinous acts Slughorn had in mind for her. "I was witness to that magnificent Bat-Bogey Hex you cast as I passed your carriage earlier," he finished.

Ginny blushed slightly and nodded, relieved that that seemed to be the only reason he was interested in her.

Slughorn laughed. "And modest as well as a talented witch!" He rubbed her shoulder slowly, as if he was petting a small lap-dog. Harry sat up and held his wand tight beside his right leg, just out of Slughorn's sight, ready to start casting jinxes if things started to get hinky. But instead of possibly molesting Ginny, Slughorn looked up and exclaimed, "Oh my! I hadn't realized it was so late! They've already lit the lamps." He stood and gestured to the door. "Better go put on your robes."

Everyone stood and made their way to the door, causing a small traffic jam in their haste to get out of Slughorn's sight. Harry stood and stretched, happy to be done with Slughorn. And even though 6th year was when they taught you how to make crystal meth, Harry wasn't planning on taking potions this year, so he shouldn't have to deal with Slughorn ever again.

"Get that out of your mouth," he ordered Neville, attempting to pry a broken piece of plate out from between his teeth. Neville growled and eyed Harry's hand hungrily. "And don't you even _think_ about biting me again," Harry warned, tapping Neville on the nose with his index finger. Neville whimpered in defeat and relinquished his death-hold on the spit-covered bit of ceramic. Harry brought the broken plate up to his face and inspected it from a few angles before sticking his tongue out at it and throwing it to the floor. "Hey, don't be upset," he told the downtrodden Neville. "Your intestines will thank me... And I'll let you chew on Ron when we get back to the carriage, alright?"

Neville sighed, then smiled up at Harry, "Okay..."

"Good. Now come on!" Harry pulled him up by the shirt collar and pushed him towards the door before wiping Neville spit off his hand and onto a nearby seat cushion and following him out into the hall.

"Hey," came a soft voice from behind Harry. He felt a light squeeze on his butt.

He whirled around and shouted, "Not in the butt!" his hands cupped protectively over his backside.

Ginny laughed. "Not in the butt, eh? Then where exactly do you want it?" She raised her eyebrows and moved closer to him.

Harry cleared his throat and smiled, relaxing his grip on his ass. "Hey, Ginny. Sorry 'bout that." He ran his fingers through his hair and wished he had spent more time styling it this morning: there wasn't nearly enough mousse to achieve that sex-hair look that was a trademark of his. Now, it just looked kind of like Neville had licked his head repeatedly from alternating sides.

Ginny laughed again. Harry had almost forgotten how pretty she looked when she laughed. "'S okay. I guess you have to be careful about that nowadays. There's no telling what kind of shit people would try and stick up there when you turned your back... Gerbils, pencils, zucchinis..."

"Sounds like you've had some experience with all that..." Harry noted, then pushed Neville forward again to keep him from stopping every few steps.

"Well, you wouldn't _believe_ some of the things Fred and George do to Ron..." She shook her head and sent her hair flying.

"So, um, that hex Slughorn mentioned?" Harry said, desperate to get away from the strange-things-found-in-Ron's-butt conversation they had embarked upon.

She sighed. "Yeah. That. Remember Zacharias Smith? The Huffelpuff from the DA?" She continued after Harry gave a nod. "Well, he was trying to feel me up back in our compartment." Harry curled his hands into fists and pushed Neville again, maybe a bit too hard.

"Ouch, Harry!" Neville whined, turning around and trying to rub where Harry had punched his back, but after not being able to find it, continued to spin around like a dog chasing his tail.

"Sorry, mate," Harry apologized and grabbed Neville's shoulders, pointing him back in the right direction.

"_Anyway_," Ginny continued. "I hexed him, the bugger... But I didn't know that Slughorn was watching."

"Probably waiting for one of you to take your shirt off..." Harry mumbled crossly, once again remembering the Hermione/Ron/Luggage Room episode for the second, and hopefully last, time that day.

"And he burst in, and I thought I was going to get detention, but he invited me to lunch instead. Mad, eh?" Ginny smiled.

"Yeah... Mad." Harry looked down at Ginny from the corner of his eye, then forward again to push Neville. He noticed Blaise walking just in front of Neville and pushed him extra hard into Blaise's back.

Blaise spun around and spat, "Watch it, you brainless git!"

"Watch what?" Neville asked him, but Blaise was already out of earshot and headed towards the carriage reserved for Slytherin 6th years.

Harry patted him on the back reassuringly, and Neville looked at him from over his shoulder. "Watch what?" he asked Harry worriedly.

Harry didn't answer, but just stared at Blaise's retreating head with concentration. And that's when he got an idea...

"Ginny, there's something I need to take care of... Will you make sure Neville gets back to the compartment in one piece? Or maybe two or three. I really don't care." He mumbled before pushing past Neville and streaking down the hall after Blaise.

"Sure!" Ginny called after him. She'd seen that look in Harry's eyes before. He was about to wreak some havoc... _Ron will be sorry he missed it._ She shook her head. "Come on," she said as she grabbed Neville's hand and pulled him along after her. Ginny didn't want to be around when all hell broke loose, as it always did when Harry Potter was involved.

* * *

Harry patted his pants pocket as he ran after Blaise. His Invisibility Cloak was there, tucked safely between a pack of gum and a slightly melted Chocolate Frog that had been in his pocket for a few weeks now, but Harry had kept forgetting to take it out. Harry withdrew the cloak from its linty prison and threw it over him with a flourish just as Blaise opened the door to the Slytherin compartment. Harry shoved his foot in the door before it could be shut.

Crabbe, like the good goon he was, hopped up to try and shut the door after Blaise. "Bloody door!" growled Crabbe as he slammed the sliding door repeatedly into Harry's foot. He suppressed a grunt as his foot was crushed over and over again. He sincerely hoped it wasn't broken...

"Leave it!" ordered Draco Malfoy, the De Facto leader of the group. Crabbe sneered, but stopped his assault on Harry's foot, not yet totally defeated by the unruly door.

Harry took his chance to shove the door all the way open, forcing Crabbe, who still had a firm hold on the door handle, to lose his balance and topple over onto Malfoy's lap. Harry bit his hand to stifle a laugh as he watched Crabbe flail around Malfoy's crotch-area. He jumped into Crabbe's empty seat and from there, hoisted himself up into the luggage rack directly above. It was a tight squeeze between the wall and Goyle's rather smelly trunk, but Harry just fit. He snaked his hand into his Chocolate Frog-less pocket an fingered the handful of self-lighting fireworks Fred and George had given him for his birthday. _"Guaranteed to kill the closest living thing upon impact,"_ they had written on the card. Harry just hoped they lived up to their description.

"Get off, you bloody poof!" Malfoy spat, shoving Crabbe roughly to the floor. Pansy Parkinson shrieked with laughter and Blaise half-smiled and looked out the window. Goyle, with barely enough mental capacity to function as a human being, merely grunted in approval.

"Sorry, boss," Crabbe mumbled as he stood and resumed his seat directly below Harry.

Harry took the small parcel of fireworks out of his pocket and prepared to aim and then run like hell.

"So, Zabini," began Malfoy. "What did Slughorn want?"

Blaise snorted. "What doesn't he want? He just asked us there because we have something to offer him."

Pansy snickered and began stroking Malfoy's hair.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "What I _meant_ was he was trying to befriend students with relations in high places." He picked up the book that was laid over his armrest and shook his head. "I can't believe I associate myself with these people..." he muttered.

"Who else was invited?" demanded Malfoy, shifting away from Pansy's roaming hands.

Blaise sighed in aggravation and looked up from his book. "McLaggen, and some other guy, I really wasn't paying attention. And Longbottom, Weaselette, and precious _Potter_, of course."

"You know, that Weasley girl isn't bad looking..." Pansy mused. "For a dirty blood traitor, I mean," she corrected herself.

Malfoy looked up at her. "Well then why don't you go find her and have have a sodding orgy?"

Crabbe and Goyle laughed as Pansy rolled her eyes and resumed petting Malfoy.

"He obviously didn't realize that _I'm _on the train, or-"

"I don't think Slughorn is interested in Death Eaters," Blaise interrupted nonchalantly.

Malfoy looked angry, but choked out a dry laugh instead. "Well, maybe he's not interested in me because he likes them dark."

"Oh, piss off, Malfoy!" Blaise yelled, tossing his book at the laughing Malfoy. Malfoy ducked and the book sailed into the overhead rack, smack into Harry's face. He gasped in shock and stifled a curse as the book _thunk_ed to the floor. No one seemed to have head him... Except Malfoy was staring up into the rack, his narrowed eyes moving back and forth as if searching for something... Perhaps he had been heard after all, but that was nothing to worry about now. He once again readied the fireworks.

But before he had a chance to throw them, the train began to lurch to a stop. Harry sighed quietly in disappointment. He'd lost his chance and now he was stuck there until the compartment had emptied.

The train rolled to a halt and Crabbe and Goyle muscled their way out into the hallway, felling first years with every booming step. Blaise followed after them, sneering at the whimpering students as he stepped over them.

"Coming, love?" Pansy drawled, holding out her hand for Malfoy to take.

Malfoy just barely hid a grimace with a pleasant smile. "You go on. I just want to check something..."

Pansy frowned, but left, sliding the door shut behind her.

Malfoy went to the window and peeked through the blinds before lowering them so no one from the corridor would be able to see inside.

Now Harry was interested. He returned the fireworks to his pocket and leaned as far forward as he could, given his current position. He watched as Malfoy lowered his trunk from the rack across from where he was perched. What ever was in there must be really important if even Pansy wasn't allowed to see it. And if Harry could find out what it was, he could steal it and then hold it for ransom or something of that nature.

Without warning, Malfoy spun around, his wand drawn. _"Petrificus Totalus!" _he yelled, and before Harry could even comprehend what was happening, he felt his body go rigid and slip off the luggage rack and onto the floor at Malfoy's feet, his Invisibility Cloak trapped underneath him.

Malfoy smiled and bent down to Harry's level. "I thought so," he said slowly, staring into Harry's face with a satisfied smirk. "I heard you when Blaise's book hit you..." He made to stand up, but then changed his mind. "Well, as long as I have you here now, there's no need to wait until later..." Malfoy quickly changed positions so that he was no longer squatting next to Harry, but straddling him, putting his weight on his hands and knees on either side of the other boy. Before Harry could blink, Malfoy had lowered his head and pressed his lips against Harry's.

Upon contact, Harry's mind went completely blank. He couldn't even remember his name, not that he really cared about his name at the moment: Draco-fucking-Malfoy was kissing the pants of him! Strangely though, Harry couldn't decide if he liked it or not... Being somewhat of a self-proclaimed horny bastard, Harry was willing to kiss almost anything that would kiss him back. (The only real exception being Neville, of course, but that was only because he tended to slobber.) But once again, this was _Malfoy_ he was kissing. Correction. _Malfoy_ who was kissing _him_. Plus, he was paralyzed, so there wasn't much he could do one way or the other, so he busied himself thinking up expletives to scream at Malfoy once the curse was lifted. It didn't matter if he liked it or not: He was being molested. That was the story and Harry was sticking to it.

Malfoy growled in the back of his throat and pulled away. "This would be so much more fun if you could move," he said as he frowned down at Harry. "Promise you won't run away?" Not waiting for Harry to answer, seeing as he couldn't, Malfoy turned and opened his trunk. He rummaged around for a few seconds, tossing out a few articles of clothing (two sets of robes and a rather flamboyant necktie) before finding what he had been looking for: A long necklace made up of tiny silver links.

"I don't think you'd run away, Potter," Malfoy said as he pulled the chain over Harry's head. "This is just... insurance." Malfoy smiled. As soon as the chain was completely around Harry's neck, it tightened until there was no possible way for him to slip it off over his head as Malfoy had done. Once satisfied that the chain was as tight as it could get without choking Harry, Malfoy retrieved his wand and lifted the curse.

"What the bloody fucking hell was _that_?" Harry yelled. "You fucking-!"

Malfoy made a zipping gesture with his hand and Harry fell silent, finding it absolutely impossible to talk, which was a shame because he hadn't even gotten to use any of the really good insults. Harry frowned menacingly and tried to convey all his thoughts through clever hand gestures.

"Would you stop that?" Malfoy caught Harry's arms and pinned them down, crossing them right over left on the ground above his head. "Honestly, Potter. I knew you were dim, but I had no idea to what extent." He bent down closer so that his lips barely touched Harry's ear, sending shivers up Harry's spine. (Not shivers of anticipation, mind you. Harry's ears happened to be very ticklish. Why, just the _thought_ of someone breathing on his ear would often send Harry into hysterics.)

"If you yell like that, your sidekicks might come to your rescue," Malfoy whispered seductively. "And we can't have that." Slowly and deliberately, he licked the outside of Harry's ear, the tip of his tongue just brushing the inside before it darted out again for another circuit of Harry's earlobe. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, but couldn't help a small smile from forming on his lips.

"Can you behave?"

Harry hadn't noticed that Malfoy had stopped licking his ear until he had spoken. Harry opened his eyes slowly to find that he had pulled away and was now hovering over him once again, one of his hands still firmly locked around both of Harry's wrists. Harry let out an exasperated sigh and nodded. Malfoy made the zipping motion once again, in the opposite direction. Harry assumed this meant he was able to talk. However, he didn't get the chance.

Malfoy leaned down and pressed his lips to Harry's once again, his tongue seeking entrance to Harry's mouth. Harry tried to fight it, but some unseen force wrenched his mouth open and granted Malfoy complete access, which he took full advantage of. A slow realization of diluted horror dawned on Harry: It didn't matter what he tried to do, he was under Malfoy's control. He made a mental note to ask Hermione just what the fuck the chain around his neck was as Malfoy took his bottom lip and pinched it between his teeth.

"Ow!" Harry yelped. "Not so rough," he warned the other boy as best as he could while their lips were still locked. Though muffled, Malfoy seemed to get his message and pulled away.

"I think you like it," Malfoy said with a smirk and an almost imperceptible wink. He released Harry's wrists for a mere second. Just long enough for him to make a cross sign with his two forefingers. Harry didn't even have to guess what this one meant. To prove his theory, he tried picking his hands up off the ground. He could move his fingers, but his hands remained securely attached to the floor.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow as Harry stared up at him in resignation, his breathing a little heavier than normal. "At least you learn fast," he noted as he slowly crept down Harry's body, running his hands down his chest and stomach as he went.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Malfoy's hand as he started to undo the button of Harry's jeans was as good as any silencing charm. The zipper followed after the button and before Harry knew it, both his pants and his boxers had been pulled down to his knees in one swift jerk. A soft gasp led to choppy breaths as Malfoy took Harry's erection in his hand and pressed his thumb to the slit, making Harry unwillingly arch into his hand before he teasingly let go, moving both hands to either side of Harry to get more leverage. Harry shut his eyes, but quickly opened them again as Malfoy slowly rocked his hips into Harry's, grinding Harry's exposed manhood against the bulge that was his own, still hidden inside his pants.

Wanting more, Harry bucked into the other boy, as Malfoy continued to thrust his hips into Harry's at an agonizingly slow pace. With a noise that was somewhere between a moan of pleasure and a groan of discontent, Harry struggled against his binds. Malfoy pretended not to notice his desperation as he licked his way around Harry's neck, pulling down his shirt collar with one finger as his mouth ventured lower, and stopped just above his collarbone before he began to suck.

Harry groaned. "Mmm, Draco!" His hands clenched and unclenched, searching for something to hold onto, but finding nothing but empty air. Needing to be closer, Harry squirmed and kicked his pants the rest of the way off so that he could wind his legs around the blonde's waist, matching the thrusts with his own.

Without removing his lips from Harry's neck, Malfoy made another cross with his fingers and quickly separated them as if flinging something to the ground. Harry's hands immediately flew to his partner. One tangled in his hair while the other went to his pants, fumbling with the zipper.

Malfoy released his pressure on Harry's neck just enough so that he could talk clearly. "Nuh uh uh. Not so fast," he whispered, his breath cold on Harry's sweat-slicked skin, as he slowly drew the other boy's hand away from his twitching erection. "We have to save _something_ for later, eh, love?"

With a grunt of disappointment, Harry threw his arm around Malfoy's shoulder and rocked faster, trying to get Malfoy to do the same. Malfoy responded by wrapping his arms around Harry, his hands supporting the smaller boy's back as he arched into him, his head flopping back as he panted for air. He too quickened his pace, but only for the other boy's sake: Malfoy had long ago learned self control when it came to these matters.

Malfoy knew Harry was about to come when he felt his body go rigid in his arms. He shuddered violently as Malfoy once again placed his hand around his cock, massaging it in time with their thrusts. With a strangled scream of ecstasy as he reached his climax, Harry spilled his seed into Draco's waiting hand, then fell limp in his arms. Malfoy could feel Harry's heart beating as he tried to catch his breath.

Malfoy found that he was breathing harder too and his erection was throbbing painfully in his pants, but he suppressed the urge to come with some difficulty. Watching the great Harry Potter grow weak in his arms was almost better than an orgasm.

He gently laid Harry back down on the ground and removed his sticky hand from around his cock and held it out before him. Harry slowly opened his eyes, not realizing that he had closed him and watched as Malfoy sensually put his middle finger to his lips and push it into his mouth, sucking it clean of Harry's juices, his eyes never once leaving Harry's. It was like he wanted to establish dominance over the other boy.

Harry swallowed. Just watching him do that made Harry hard again. Malfoy noticed this and paused in his cleanup duties. "Don't think it'll happen again so soon," he said with a smirk. "Besides," he continued after swiping his tongue across the palm of his hand, "you'll only get it when I want you to have it."

And with that, he stood, picking up his wand as he did so. With a flourish, Harry was fully clothed once again, the only evidence of their rendezvous was Harry's crimson-face and heavy breathing. Another wave of his wand and his trunk repacked itself just as neatly as it had been before Malfoy emptied its contents. Malfoy left it where it was for a house elf to retrieve (as they usually did) and went to the compartment door.

"You can thank me later," Malfoy informed Harry as he reached for the latch. He paused and then added over his shoulder as an afterthought, "You _will _thank me later." Silently, he strode from the carriage, all the swagger of the normal Malfoy in place to keep up appearances.

Harry exhaled and moved his hair off his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. _'What the bloody fucking hell was that for' indeed!_


	3. Enter Me

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter... (I just like to make him do dirty things to Draco Malfoy XD)

a/n: Thanks to may reviewers and sorry the chapters are so bloody long. (I know that turns some people off of what would otherwise be a perfectly lovely story full of sex and humor.) I promise to update more religiously and perhaps make the chapters just a tad shorter! I also can't help but notice that there are quite a few alerts on the story, now if you would just send us a review, that would be lovely! :D

* * *

"Congratulations, Ron," said Hermione as she rolled her eyes, "you've lost Harry."

"_I've _lost Harry?" Hermione nodded in response and Ron snorted. "Well, I'm sorry I didn't have the insight to plant a tracking device into his mouth while he was sleeping!"

Hermione folded her arms and looked away disdainfully. "That was only once and I took it out after a few months." Hermione had indeed planted a tracking device in Harry's back-left molar for the first few months of their friendship. Needless to say, Hermione had removed it after Harry began to complain about being able to hear soft-rock in the style of Phil Collins being played wherever he went. Harry was none the wiser. Ron didn't understand why she had planted the tracking device in the first place. She would never tell him it was because she was really stalking _him_, not Harry, but it just so happened that everywhere Harry was, Ron was as well.

Hermione and Ron stood in the corridor as the other students pushed rudely past them, refusing to back down from their position that the other had lost track of their best friend, who just so happened to be number one on You-Know-Who's hit list (not to mention Dudley's, but that was inconsequential, seeing as Dudley didn't really have the capacity to _kill _Harry, maybe just squish him a bit if he sat on him) and should therefore be monitored at all times, like a puppy or Neville when he thinks he's in heat.

Hermione sighed and put her forefingers to her temples as if the mere thought of Harry gave her an excruciatingly bad headache, which it undoubtedly did, given her role as The Chosen One's unofficial and grossly underpaid babysitter. "Look, Ron. I'm tired of fighting with you."

Ron relaxed a little, but not too much (he needed to keep it street for his home dogs) and let Hermione continue.

"Can't we just... move on? Are we really that immature?" What she really wanted to say was 'Are _you_ really that immature', but she wasn't going to go an ruin a moment like this by being a bitch, no matter how tempting it was.

Ron sighed and scratched his head. "I suppose-." He didn't get to finish his thought. Hermione had attacked him. Quite literally, attacked him. One moment, she had been standing before him, not allowing herself to look him in the eye, the next she was on him, her sudden impact unbalancing the vertically challenged Ron and sending them both to the floor in a heap. If she hadn't been laying on his hands, Ron probably would have been undressing her the moment they made contact with the burgundy carpet. As it was, he had to wait a few seconds before she moved enough to allow him the use of his hands and once they were free, they immediately shot to the clasp of her bra, which he had always had some difficulty undoing in the past and today was no exception.

A few of the younger students blushed and politely averted their eyes from Ron and Hermione's shameless public display of affection, carefully stepping over them as they writhed about the floor. The rest of them just kicked whatever flying appendage was in their way to the side without a second thought. They had to be used to this kind of thing from Ron and Hermione by now. (While not many knew about the incident in the luggage compartment, Ron and Hermione would be surprised to hear that most were familiar with the incidents in the restricted section of the library, the kitchen, and the third floor prefects' bathroom, the latter being somewhat of a legend among the younger boys of Hogwarts who had read a play-by-play on the toilet wall. Ron would never admit that it was him that had written it there, and had actually embellished on the story so much so that it was hardly an accurate interpretation of the actual occurrence.)

Hermione pulled her lips away from Ron's and stared down at him. "Is this an apology?"

"An _apology_?" Ron stopped, just a clasp short of undoing Hermione's bra. "What do you mean, an apology?... Like... I'm _apologizing_?"

"Yes, that's generally what an apology entails."

He stared up at her, his mouth agape and his brow furrowed in concentration. In all likelihood, he had forgotten what he had done that he should be apologizing for. Boobs had that effect on him.

Hermione shook her head and crawled off of him, Ron's hands sliding out from under her shirt and flopping, defeated, to his sides. "I can't _believe _you!" she groaned as she stomped away, her half-free breasts a-jiggle, straight into Harry as he was stepping out of a compartment, his hair disheveled, face red, and a satisfied smile that didn't touch his eyes. The classic signs that Harry Potter had gotten some.

Hermione apologized profusely to Harry before turning and asking him to do up her bra saying that Ron was an "inconsiderate git who obviously had no moral fiber or respect for women". Of course, Harry obliged, him being both a good friend and a (seemingly) heterosexual male.

Ron, ignoring Hermione, smiled and raised himself up on his elbows. "And just where have you been?" he asked smugly, his own rejection pushed to the furthest recesses of his mind for the moment, where they would undoubtedly stay for quite some time. If he was lucky, Harry would tell him what had happened with particular attention to the nasty details, thereby giving Ron just one more reason why it was much better to live vicariously through Harry Potter than to live normally as himself.

Harry James Potter, The Chosen One, The Boy-Who-Lived, the biggest thing since the discovery of the Wrackspurt (or so said the Quibbler. Harry wasn't quite certain if this was a good thing or not, seeing as he was being compared to a small, invisible thing that floats in though a victim's ears and makes his or her brain go fuzzy) had just been raped by Draco "Fuck-Me-I'm-Gorgeous" Malfoy, but there was no way he was going to tell Ron that. First of all, it was kind of a mouthful to say, and secondly, he wasn't sure how homophobic Ron would take the news that his best friend had just kinda sorta had sex with another guy, even if it (technically) hadn't been consensual. Of course, Harry had had plenty of time to say no, but his mouth had been otherwise occupied by Malfoy's tongue. But there was no way he was going to tell Ron that either, although the look of sheer horror on his face would almost be worth trashing the friendship.

So when Ron had asked Harry where he had been, he just shrugged and stuffed his cloak of invisibility into his pocket. "I'm a secret agent. If I compromised my mission by revealing confidential information, I might have to go all Avada Kedavra on your ass, and that would just be an unnecessary waste of a nice ass."

Ron's eyes widened with fear as he subconsciously scrunched up so that his butt was firmly pressed in the crevice where the floor met the wall to prevent any sort of intrusion. Nope. There was no way Harry was telling him about Malfoy.

Harry flashed one of his infamous smiles and offered Ron a hand and, with as much masculinity as he could muster at the moment, which was a fair amount, considering, hoisted Ron into a standing position. He clapped him congenially on the shoulder and turned to whisper in his ear. "I'll tell you about it later, mmk?"

Ron nodded eagerly and a little absently (he was still a bit rattled by the "nice ass" comment), but little did he know that Harry actually had no intention of telling him anything close to the truth. But then again, Harry rarely ever told the exact truth when it came to matters such as this.

"We should probably start heading up to the castle," Hermione suggested authoritatively. "At this rate, all the carriages will have left and we'll have to walk."

"If you're that opposed to walking, Hermione, maybe Harry can carry you," Ron suggested sarcastically. "He's used to lugging around extra baggage."

Hermione glared at him and then at Harry, as if somehow he had left his body and jumped into Ron's, forced him to say that, and then hopped back into his own body in a split second, before striding forcefully down the corridor and out the door at the front of the train.

Harry snorted. "Nice one, Ron." He turned his back on his friend and followed after Hermione grudgingly, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Truth was, he wouldn't mind carrying Hermione: it would give him a really good excuse to feel her ass. If there was anything he needed at the moment to settle his nerves, it was a nice ass-grabbing... Or a cigarette. He'd settle for either.

"Well, I didn't mean it!" the redhead called after Harry, before groaning and shuffling down the corridor at a nice, sulking pace.

* * *

Once outside the three were accosted by a sneering Snape. Well, one could assume he was sneering. He had a large bandage covering his surprisingly less obtrusive nose and it kind of diluted the whole sneering empression.

Hermione turned her head at the sound of Ron and Harry's footsteps as Harry hopped gracefully down the stairs and Ron, more or less, tripped gracefully down the stairs.

"Tie your shoes, Mr. Weasley!" spat Snape with a contemptuous snort, the force of which made him wince slightly.

As Ron bent down to knot the offending laces, Harry waved enthusiastically to the professor. "Well, hallo there, Severus!" He put his hand on Ron's lowered head and leaned on it, causing Ron to topple a bit. Harry paid him no attention. "Had a bit of cosmetic surgery over the holiday? 'Mione always says that we should love ourselves for who we are on the inside, not the outside. Load of Muggle crap, I always say." Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and clenched her jaw. "Who cares about all your guts on the inside, so long as you're nice-looking on the outside, eh Sevvy?"

Snape took a menacing step towards Harry and folded his arms. "Cut the bull, Mr. Potter. I ran into a door." He stroked the bridge of his nose tenderly, as if it might fall off at any moment a la Michael Jackson.

He watched Ron stand slowly from his crouched position and smiled a bit in amusement at his pants. "Been watching MTV this summer, have we?" Harry chuckled a little. Ron looked away, slightly abashed and shuffled his feet. Snape then looked at Harry and Hermione in turn. "Are we too good for the school robes now? Do you all have matching jerseys that say 'Potter's Bleeding Posse'?"

All three shook their heads, but only Harry dared to speak. "No, but that's a great idea, Severus, thanks. But I do think I'll leave out the 'bleeding' part. Gives it sort of a negative connotation, don't you think?"

Snape glared at him for a moment, deciding if throttling the boy was worth getting sacked over. The pay was shit, but he _did _get dental... Snape shook his head, his greasy hair moving as if it was all one piece. "Put your robes on," he said through clenched teeth. Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Snape interrupted him. "And _don't _call me Severus, Mr. Potter! How many times must I tell you before you get it through your thick skull?" _Must be all the product he uses in his hair,_ he thought morosely, wishing that he could get his hair to defy logic and gravity the way Harry's did.

"Aye, aye, mon capitan!" Harry said with a two fingered salute that turned into one as soon as Snape had turned his back and apparated to the castle gates.

Hermione rolled her eyes and with a quick wave of her wand, she was dressed to perfection in her black school robes, the Gryffindor crest set proudly upon her breast. With another wave, Harry and Ron were dressed to perfection in matching hot pink robes with the gay pride flag setting proudly upon their chests.

Harry laughed heartily at Ron's horrified expression as he examined his new outfit before drawing his own wand from his pocket and waving it over him. The pink robes disappeared and were replaced by Harry's normal black robes. He grinned at Hermione and made his way over to her, leaving Ron frozen in embarrassment. "Come now, 'Mione. Don't be such a bitch," Harry chided her as he put his arm around her shoulders warmly, his twitching fingers just inches from no-man's-land. "You know how terrible poor Ronnie-kins is at reversal spells." He turned to smile at Ron.

Hermione sighed. "Yeah, you're right." She waved her wand a final time and Ron was wearing his black robes. "He does suck at reversal spells." She winked at Ron.

He crinkled his nose at the other two and gave them a tight-lipped and sarcastic smile while adjusting his collar. "Come on," he ordered gruffly as he lead the way up the path to the castle, a sign that read "_Enter me!_" with an arrow leading to his anus plastered discreetly to his back.

Harry stifled a laugh by biting his hand. "Nice... work," he congratulated Hermione, who bowed and gestured for him to go before her.

"By the way," she called after him, "where did you get that necklace? Were you wearing it before?"

This year was off to a great start... (give or take a few unexpected sexual encounters with a certain blonde-haired Slytherin...)


End file.
